Post by KD on Apr 20, 2008 21:37:18 GMT -5
((Been a while since I spammed the boards with one of my story thingamawhatsits. Clive Barker’s Tortured Souls series of figurines were just a perfect set up for my feverish little brain. Much disturbing stuff ahoy, just to forewarn. If anyone wants to turn it from a running story into an RP you’re more than welcome, please just let me know!))
Clive Barker’s original characters:
Tortured Souls 1-
Agonistes-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/agonistesphoto01.jpg
The Mongroid-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/mongroidphoto01.jpg
Venal Anatomica-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/venalanatomicaphoto01.jpg
Lucidique (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/lucidiquephoto01.jpg
Zarles Krieger (Scythe Meister) (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/scythemeisterphoto01.jpg
Dr. Talisac (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/talisacphoto01.jpg
Tortured Souls 2 (Children of the New Becoming)-
Camille Noir-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/noirephoto01.jpg
Szaltax-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/szaltaxphoto01.jpg
Zain-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/zainphoto01.jpg
Moribundi-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/moribundiphoto01.jpg
Feverish-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/feverishphoto02.jpg
Suffering Bob- img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/bobsketch.jpg
Agonistes’s new children:
Milady:
He was resting beside his newest pet, idly trying to decide how he wanted to fuck her next when the screaming started. He sat up, instantly alert, while the whore beside him lifted her head, her eyes going wide.
He rose slowly, feeling a chill creep up his spine. Those were not battle cries, not the yells his men would be shouting if there was a raid from a rival gang or someone trying to take over their hideout.
His men were fighters, raised in the hellish streets of the lower city the same as him. Hardened and rough, every one of them, who’s fighting skills under his training had made them the most feared group of all the many underworld sects in New Primordium. Never in his life had he imagined they would make such sounds. Screams of terror and dread the likes of which hadn’t echoed through this city since its first incarnation had stood hundreds of years ago. Even as he pulled his gun and headed down, they were dwindling, fewer and fewer throats able to voice the horror they faced.
Part of him knew. Even as he descended the stairs and turned the final corner, telling himself he was able to face anything, it didn’t prepare him for the sight. And yet he wasn’t surprised.
She’d come for him, his former pet. The sandstorm had swallowed his little whore and spat out the lady she’d never stopped being, but no noble house in New Primordium had ever seen such a lady within its halls. Her torso had been flayed, the raw flesh wrapped in a delicate corset of beaten leather, white bone, and glittering mesh which the glistening muscle showed through clearly. More leather fell to her bare feet, small strips of it meant only to help hold her skirt together, for the bottom half of her dress was formed of her own delicate skin, taken from the upper half of her body to clothe the lower half and form streamers of skin that rose from the lower part of her back to where it was held by nails driven through her wrists.
She heard his steps and turned toward him, a noble lady of flesh and blood, of delicate wire and shining blade, standing tall in the center of the room, surrounded by a carpet of bodies slain by her own fair hand. Her eyes locked with his across the room, and they alone were unchanged…
The Lovers:
She turned to him as the building burned around them, flames creeping forward as if they sensed flesh and were eager to partake of it. He didn’t notice them, didn’t notice anything but her, her form framed on all sides by flickering orange. She extended a hand towards him and he came obediently, taking her hand and letting her draw him forward. He thought he would die then, simply take her in his arms and let the flames devour them, the smoke already pressing their lungs to the breaking point to press them into death. But no, she held him at arm’s length and looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his pale ones. Her voice was hoarse, the smoke already making it hard to speak. “Do you love me?”
He touched her cheek lightly. “Yes.”
And then she brought it out, holding it up for his inspection; a single piece of old paper, stained with grease, the script on it barely legible. But he knew it, had spent enough time studying and wondering about it.
Agonistes’s prayer.
He lifted her eyes to hers again, wide with shock now. She looked back at him gravely. “I have no idea if he’ll come, but this is a burning place, just like they said he could be found in. And if he comes it will be pain beyond imagining, for days on end. But when the pain is done…”
He looked at the paper again. Was it true? Could the great creature, beloved of God, truly come and remake them into something they could wreak revenge upon his father? On New Primordium itself?
Once more he lifted his eyes to hers. She spoke again, her voice starting to give out. “You’re willing to die with me…are you willing to be reborn with me as well?”
The answer came to him far easier than he’d ever have expected. “Yes.”
She smiled, and rose on her toes to kiss him, then drew him down and they both knelt to pray.
Skein:
Laughter echoed from the shadows, though he wasn’t sure who it was that watched. Bob, perhaps, or Szaltax. He ran to the center of the courtyard and fell to his knees beside her, horror welling up within him. The Doctor had spoken true. For her ingratitude and betrayal, he’d had them take back the ‘gifts’ he’d bestowed upon her, never mind it hadn’t been her choice to have them. The metal limbs were gone, leaving her a broken torso, meat and blood trailing from the stumps of her arms and legs. They’d cut out her eye, they’d pulled the metal and plastic organs implanted within her out, leaving her intestines laying all around her. He could literally look into the cavity of her body and see her heart, untouched by scalpel and drug, beating weakly. She was dying, dying right before his eyes and it was all his fault…
On the heels of that despairing thought, hope bloomed. No…there was still a chance, slim though it was. And a delicious irony in it, for her to be saved by the very creature the Doctor envied and despised so.
Murmurs of surprise came from the shadows and figures stirred as he scooped her up, but they didn’t move to stop him as he tucked what innards he could back into her body and carried her out into the city, toward the gates that would take him out into the desert and her salvation, or so he hoped.
Out to Agonisties.
Part I: New Primordium
They did it because they forgot the past.
It’s in the nature of Man to view the past through a certain lens. Whether tinted by religious views or the view of the country, all view the past in a different way.
And few learn from it.
Once history retreats a certain distance into the past, it becomes even more hazy, enough certain events are forgotten. And when they’re changed around, bad to good, good to bad, there are so few who know the truth it’s rarely corrected.
Important things are forgotten in the whirl of desire to present a future. Ideas of glory and romanticism color facts. Tragedies of the past set the stepping stones for the tragedies of the future.
And no city in history had held more tragedy than Primordium.
The first city. The true city of darkness and dust and streets paved with blood. Before Troy. Before Jerusalem. Before Rome. Before the great whore herself, Babylon.
Primordium, holder of secrets best left alone. If they hadn’t uncovered the ruins of it, perhaps the world would have stayed in the creeping stasis it was caught in and the New Becoming would never have happened. Or perhaps it was simply meant to be.
But ruins or not, when it came down to it, the reason for it all was they forgot the past. Forgot what they’d read about the things that had happened when Primordium had been young, far, far in the past when the world was creeping into what would laughingly be called civilization later on. Forgot the blood, the tears, the suffering of thousands.
They thought surely they, here in this time of metal and technology and enlightened thought, this world that fit nicely into a box of science or religion depending on your fancy, surely they, men or reason, could bring a circle around to a good conclusion. Things had started in Primordium, they could bring the greatness of the past forward with the glory of the future, built upon a site that had seen so much terror and blood and madness it left a scar deep within the very earth that could never be healed.
And so New Primordium was built, and the Age of Reason ended, falling down to pave the way for the New Becoming.
New Primordium rose from the ruins of the original, its design based on ancient texts and charts of the old city and upgraded to modern times. The result was a bastard. A paradox of gothic spires, gleaming with steel instead of iron, streets of cobblestones made of asphalt, gracefully carved stone covered with flyers and posters, and while not built upon the backs of slaves as its predecessor had been, the cries of the innocent and the downtrodden soon became just as common as they once had.
From the glory of New Primordium a new age started forward, science leading the way, rolling toward damnation with a sort of suicidal glee, and taking the rest of the world with them.
Clive Barker’s original characters:
Tortured Souls 1-
Agonistes-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/agonistesphoto01.jpg
The Mongroid-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/mongroidphoto01.jpg
Venal Anatomica-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/venalanatomicaphoto01.jpg
Lucidique (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/lucidiquephoto01.jpg
Zarles Krieger (Scythe Meister) (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/scythemeisterphoto01.jpg
Dr. Talisac (deceased)-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/talisacphoto01.jpg
Tortured Souls 2 (Children of the New Becoming)-
Camille Noir-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/noirephoto01.jpg
Szaltax-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/szaltaxphoto01.jpg
Zain-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/zainphoto01.jpg
Moribundi-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/moribundiphoto01.jpg
Feverish-img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/feverishphoto02.jpg
Suffering Bob- img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/gypsyjinxed/Tortured%20Souls/bobsketch.jpg
Agonistes’s new children:
Milady:
He was resting beside his newest pet, idly trying to decide how he wanted to fuck her next when the screaming started. He sat up, instantly alert, while the whore beside him lifted her head, her eyes going wide.
He rose slowly, feeling a chill creep up his spine. Those were not battle cries, not the yells his men would be shouting if there was a raid from a rival gang or someone trying to take over their hideout.
His men were fighters, raised in the hellish streets of the lower city the same as him. Hardened and rough, every one of them, who’s fighting skills under his training had made them the most feared group of all the many underworld sects in New Primordium. Never in his life had he imagined they would make such sounds. Screams of terror and dread the likes of which hadn’t echoed through this city since its first incarnation had stood hundreds of years ago. Even as he pulled his gun and headed down, they were dwindling, fewer and fewer throats able to voice the horror they faced.
Part of him knew. Even as he descended the stairs and turned the final corner, telling himself he was able to face anything, it didn’t prepare him for the sight. And yet he wasn’t surprised.
She’d come for him, his former pet. The sandstorm had swallowed his little whore and spat out the lady she’d never stopped being, but no noble house in New Primordium had ever seen such a lady within its halls. Her torso had been flayed, the raw flesh wrapped in a delicate corset of beaten leather, white bone, and glittering mesh which the glistening muscle showed through clearly. More leather fell to her bare feet, small strips of it meant only to help hold her skirt together, for the bottom half of her dress was formed of her own delicate skin, taken from the upper half of her body to clothe the lower half and form streamers of skin that rose from the lower part of her back to where it was held by nails driven through her wrists.
She heard his steps and turned toward him, a noble lady of flesh and blood, of delicate wire and shining blade, standing tall in the center of the room, surrounded by a carpet of bodies slain by her own fair hand. Her eyes locked with his across the room, and they alone were unchanged…
The Lovers:
She turned to him as the building burned around them, flames creeping forward as if they sensed flesh and were eager to partake of it. He didn’t notice them, didn’t notice anything but her, her form framed on all sides by flickering orange. She extended a hand towards him and he came obediently, taking her hand and letting her draw him forward. He thought he would die then, simply take her in his arms and let the flames devour them, the smoke already pressing their lungs to the breaking point to press them into death. But no, she held him at arm’s length and looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his pale ones. Her voice was hoarse, the smoke already making it hard to speak. “Do you love me?”
He touched her cheek lightly. “Yes.”
And then she brought it out, holding it up for his inspection; a single piece of old paper, stained with grease, the script on it barely legible. But he knew it, had spent enough time studying and wondering about it.
Agonistes’s prayer.
He lifted her eyes to hers again, wide with shock now. She looked back at him gravely. “I have no idea if he’ll come, but this is a burning place, just like they said he could be found in. And if he comes it will be pain beyond imagining, for days on end. But when the pain is done…”
He looked at the paper again. Was it true? Could the great creature, beloved of God, truly come and remake them into something they could wreak revenge upon his father? On New Primordium itself?
Once more he lifted his eyes to hers. She spoke again, her voice starting to give out. “You’re willing to die with me…are you willing to be reborn with me as well?”
The answer came to him far easier than he’d ever have expected. “Yes.”
She smiled, and rose on her toes to kiss him, then drew him down and they both knelt to pray.
Skein:
Laughter echoed from the shadows, though he wasn’t sure who it was that watched. Bob, perhaps, or Szaltax. He ran to the center of the courtyard and fell to his knees beside her, horror welling up within him. The Doctor had spoken true. For her ingratitude and betrayal, he’d had them take back the ‘gifts’ he’d bestowed upon her, never mind it hadn’t been her choice to have them. The metal limbs were gone, leaving her a broken torso, meat and blood trailing from the stumps of her arms and legs. They’d cut out her eye, they’d pulled the metal and plastic organs implanted within her out, leaving her intestines laying all around her. He could literally look into the cavity of her body and see her heart, untouched by scalpel and drug, beating weakly. She was dying, dying right before his eyes and it was all his fault…
On the heels of that despairing thought, hope bloomed. No…there was still a chance, slim though it was. And a delicious irony in it, for her to be saved by the very creature the Doctor envied and despised so.
Murmurs of surprise came from the shadows and figures stirred as he scooped her up, but they didn’t move to stop him as he tucked what innards he could back into her body and carried her out into the city, toward the gates that would take him out into the desert and her salvation, or so he hoped.
Out to Agonisties.
Part I: New Primordium
They did it because they forgot the past.
It’s in the nature of Man to view the past through a certain lens. Whether tinted by religious views or the view of the country, all view the past in a different way.
And few learn from it.
Once history retreats a certain distance into the past, it becomes even more hazy, enough certain events are forgotten. And when they’re changed around, bad to good, good to bad, there are so few who know the truth it’s rarely corrected.
Important things are forgotten in the whirl of desire to present a future. Ideas of glory and romanticism color facts. Tragedies of the past set the stepping stones for the tragedies of the future.
And no city in history had held more tragedy than Primordium.
The first city. The true city of darkness and dust and streets paved with blood. Before Troy. Before Jerusalem. Before Rome. Before the great whore herself, Babylon.
Primordium, holder of secrets best left alone. If they hadn’t uncovered the ruins of it, perhaps the world would have stayed in the creeping stasis it was caught in and the New Becoming would never have happened. Or perhaps it was simply meant to be.
But ruins or not, when it came down to it, the reason for it all was they forgot the past. Forgot what they’d read about the things that had happened when Primordium had been young, far, far in the past when the world was creeping into what would laughingly be called civilization later on. Forgot the blood, the tears, the suffering of thousands.
They thought surely they, here in this time of metal and technology and enlightened thought, this world that fit nicely into a box of science or religion depending on your fancy, surely they, men or reason, could bring a circle around to a good conclusion. Things had started in Primordium, they could bring the greatness of the past forward with the glory of the future, built upon a site that had seen so much terror and blood and madness it left a scar deep within the very earth that could never be healed.
And so New Primordium was built, and the Age of Reason ended, falling down to pave the way for the New Becoming.
New Primordium rose from the ruins of the original, its design based on ancient texts and charts of the old city and upgraded to modern times. The result was a bastard. A paradox of gothic spires, gleaming with steel instead of iron, streets of cobblestones made of asphalt, gracefully carved stone covered with flyers and posters, and while not built upon the backs of slaves as its predecessor had been, the cries of the innocent and the downtrodden soon became just as common as they once had.
From the glory of New Primordium a new age started forward, science leading the way, rolling toward damnation with a sort of suicidal glee, and taking the rest of the world with them.